


Live By The Saw

by EnigmatiCiphers



Category: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Movies)
Genre: Cannibalism, Child Abuse, Drayton being an ass, Murder, mention of vomit, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22972150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnigmatiCiphers/pseuds/EnigmatiCiphers
Summary: A one-shot I did of if Drayton had a son.
Kudos: 5





	Live By The Saw

In his hands was a little bolt pistol, the grip cold against his palms. Tremors buried themselves deep into his wrists. _Keep calm. Keep steady._ He just couldn’t. They boy’s eyes kept shifting to the glint of the gun to the dirt below. Avoidance. He didn’t want to look. Every thread of his being was setting into panic.

“Right between the eyes, Waylon--”

A hand came to adjust the gun and hold it steady for him. A quick adjustment was all it was. Soon enough, the boy had been left to handle it on his own. The pressure weighed down on Waylon’s shoulder. There was no way out of this one; there was no way of winning with his father. He’d be whooped for running off scared or whooped if he did so much as wince while pulling the trigger.

He swallowed. It felt like rocks sliding down his throat, an avalanche of worry scarring from the inside. His finger rested over the trigger. Cold metal bit at the tip of his index. His knuckles grew white as he gripped the handle, afraid it might tumble out of his hands.

He stared at the wall. Focus on the wall. Maybe then, he could do this. As Waylon’s eyes adjusted to focus on the wood grain, he managed to ignore the writhing shapes before him. Nasaled disapproval shot from behind his shoulder. A harsh swear was dropped. Waylon felt his heart begin to flutter. Panic set in. He flinched. A hand flung out to knock him upside the head. A quick lick followed by the confirmation that he’d done something wrong, “You goddamn hogshit, hold it right. Ain’t you good for anythin’?”

“When I was a boy,” his father began to mumble as he went to correct Waylon’s hands, “when I was your age I didn’t make no bones about it. Doin’ what my Pa said. Made no fuss never.”

He yanked at the boy’s arms, tugging him closer to his target. Barrel to skin. The shivering form looked up at him with pleading eyes. This wasn’t a person. He had to keep telling himself that; keep saying it until maybe he started to believe it. “Had ta’ earn my keep, an’ now you’ve gotta earn yours—now hurry it up!” A hand fell upon his shoulder. Waylon flinched underneath it.  
“Quicker ya’ do this, quicker me an’ you can head back in the house. It’s gettin’ late and you’re waistin’ this young miss’ time.” Waylon’s father laughed. The kind which forced his way out despite the quirk in his brow. It wasn’t genuine. There was no warmth behind it as it stuttered out from behind a toothy grimace.

“Yes’ir,” Waylon choked out.

_Click._

The bolt went in. Blood trickled out from the woman’s forehead, a hole revealed as he pulled the bolt gun back. A hoarse shriek crackled out before him as her body collapsed. Each sound ripped from the woman’s frame with a worn out hollowness. She’d been screaming for too long. Exhaustion setting in, her quiet sobs fell upon deaf ears.

“Atta boy!” The hand start his shoulder pulled him closer into a light embrace. Waylon just stared. His eyes were wide, glassed over and doughy as a mooncalf. “Now get the hell inside and wake up one of your nitwit uncles to deal with all this. They ain’t got no damn time to be sleepin’ early, now!”

Waylon stepped away. The bolt gun firm in his hand. It’s end was still wet with red regret. He felt sick. A belly full of brambles, he felt fit enough to keel over and lay in his own ill.

It was for the family. A burden he’d just have to bear. He was a Sawyer, and Sawyers lived by the saw.


End file.
